


Lay a Patch on Me

by ZammyShad



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Greaser AU, M/M, Slow Burn, rating WILL go up oh god, this is all clari's fault
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 13:50:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16285772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZammyShad/pseuds/ZammyShad
Summary: There were three things Shiro knew in his life.First, his grandfather was his inspiration.Second, he was known to goose it at any and all opportunityAnd lastly, he was the only guy who could fix a hunk of junk and turn it into something worthy of a ride.





	Lay a Patch on Me

There were three things Shiro knew in his life.

First, his grandfather was his inspiration.  
Second, he was known to goose it at any and all opportunity  
And lastly, he was the only guy who could fix a hunk of junk and turn it into something worthy of a ride.

This? Leaning against the far wall of the diner, content in watching Lance rattle with his bird, Allura, while the rest of the gang whispers suspiciously about getting him a mirror warmer? He’s used to this.

He’s not, however, used to the sight of long, black hair swept up in a facsimile of bangs, the owner sliding through the front of the diner without a care in the world. The kid looked young, but the set lines of his face told a story far older than his looks would give. Maybe it’s from the half-emptied bottle hidden in his girl, breath still tainted from the smell of booze, that he sees the man’s eyes light up once landing on him. Or maybe he’s just not used to seeing violet eyes stare back at him, a challenge swirling within their depths as if this stranger knew he had it made in the shade.

 _As if._

The song on the jukebox to his right stops, ending on some shrill doo-wop notes he hadn’t really been paying attention to. Lance grabs Allura’s hand, pulling her in close while she fiddled with the lapels of his jacket, a dark blush high on her cheeks. He’s about to walk over to them, force himself back into the narrative if only to show the new kid he has a reputation around here. ( Everyone knows about the Lions. Everyone. ) There’s a reason his pals are all misfits, kicked out from society in a world that promised prosperity after the war.

_As if._

“You seen him before?” Shiro asks, hand placing itself on Lance’s shoulder. The other pulls back to give a glare towards where Shiro subtly nods, gaze refocusing on the stud at the front. Lance whistles, low and long, before turning back, eyes lit with a familiar challenge.

“Not really. Must be new if he thinks he can just waltz right in.” Lance breaks away from Allura, watching as she climbs back into the vinyl booth alongside Pidge and Hunk. “Want me to have a chat with him, Daddy-o?”

Shiro, for all his worth, desperately wants to say yes, please. Random strangers have no idea who has what territory. This kid, younger than himself but definitely older than Lance, is no more than a nosebleed punk unaware of the rules in the small town of Garrison. People come and go from this place all the time, never staying for long when there’s bigger and better chances out there. There’s no need to assume the worst, after all.

Instead, Shiro shakes his head, hand tightening upon Lance’s shoulder in warning as well as gratitude. Lance, to his credit, understands immediately, shifting to the side and watching as Takashi Shirogane strides up to a complete stranger, shoulders braced for a brawl.

“Alright, who’s got money on the ankle-biter, huh?” Lance’s voice can still be heard even as he settles down across the others, the booth creaking under more pressure. “C’mon, any bets? Not like we get any action round here.”

Pidge is next to speak up. “You're nuts if you think we got any extra bread to spare.”

Shiro shuts them out, ignoring their frantic voices and joyful laughs. He knows they’re watching his back, ready to join in if he needs it.

_As if._

He leans against the counter top, grey eyes taking in the new kid as he stiffens up. Good. “Hey,” he starts, voice soft but not weak. “What’s your name, man? Haven’t seen you around before.”

Silence greets him, the clinking of dishes Iverson handles behind the counter startlingly loud.

“Alright, no-name, how about where you’re from? Or what you’re doing out here in the middle of --”  


“What, you writing a book?”

He stops dead, lips slightly parted as those deep, violet eyes glare daggers into his own. Up close, he can smell the oil staining the other’s hands, can see the look of fiery indignation hidden beneath such a falsely-perceived timid persona. This kid isn’t afraid of anything or anyone, it seems, and that fact alone bristles Shiro’s pride.

_And lights him on fire._

“Look here,” voice deepens, darkens, no longer playful or in jest. “I’m just trying to get a feel for you, alright? Not sure if you know this, punk, but the Atlas here belongs to me and my crew. Most of the squares ‘round here don’t like us, and we don’t like them. This is our place, y’know? So I’d rather not have strangers thinking they can come in and out as they please.”

The kid stands so abruptly, it nearly knocks Shiro on his ass. Instead, he forces himself to roll with it, back straight even as the stranger stands directly in front of him. If he were any other man, it would be intimidating. Lucky for him, he supposes.

“Keith.” He says, face turned up in slight. “My name’s Keith. And I know all about the Lions. Trust me.”

Something heavy and dark settles in the pit of Shiro’s stomach, shoulders rolling back on instinct, ready for a fight. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Keith replies, the word almost breathless as he steps closer, chest to chest. “And I’m here to race you.”

The diner goes dead silent, and if Shiro thought the silence from before was deafening, this takes the cake. He hears a second later as Lance and the others scramble to stand by his side, their anger tangible in the small space. They don’t offer any words or advice, simply standing behind him in a show of solidarity, of trust.

Shiro sets his jaw, heart ready to beat out of his chest.

“You’re on, punk.”

As it stands, Shiro now knows four things in his life.

_Keith wanted to lay a patch on him._

**Author's Note:**

> There's so much Greaser-era slang here so I'll give a rundown.
> 
> Goose it - drive dangerously fast.  
> Mirror warmer - a fabric tied to a mirror in honour of one's girl.  
> Made in the shade - a belief of promised success. a "shoe-in"  
> Daddy-o - term of endearment / nickname used w/ older males.  
> Nosebleed - stupid  
> Ankle-biter - term used for kids  
> Bread - slang for money  
> Squares - anyone not a greaser. like a nerd.  
> Lay a patch - to burn rubber by accelerating rapidly.


End file.
